The BLTS Archive - Trust A Gambler
by Apocalypse (beth.tereno@gmail.com)

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Disclaimer: These characters belong not to me, though it grieves my
heart greatly, but to Bermaga. Why? Because there is no justice.

Set sometime in Season 6, post "You Are Cordially Invited"

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"That's ridiculous," Jadzia said, rolling her eyes. "You'd never do
such a thing."

Quark's return glance was full of mystery. "Wouldn't I?"

"Please. You're a flirt, Quark, but you'd never flirt away that much,"
said Jadzia. "That would be practically – unFerengi of you!" She
raised two fingers to her lips, miming shock.

"I don't think of it that way," Quark said. "It's more of an
investment."

"That is so not in the spirit of the game," Jadzia said, shaking her
head.

"It's your turn, Dax," said Quark mildly.

Jadzia's luscious and delectably red-tinted mouth twisted into a
frown. "Did you really think I'd believe that?"

"Did you really think you were that good at tongo?" Quark returned,
giving her a wide-eyed stare.

Jadzia sighed. "I don't want to play anymore, you are no fun at all."

"Wait, wait, don't tell me," Quark said, "but I think that means I
win." He leaned onto the side of her chair, three of his fingers
slipping off the armrest to graze her thigh.

"All right. Name your forfeit," Jadzia said, raising her eyebrows at
him. She shifted in her seat, but noticeably not away from his touch,
and her blue eyes danced mischief, daring him to ask for what he
wanted from her. At least, he imagined that's what they were doing.
Jadzia's eyes had made a fool of him more than once before.

"Okay . . . " Quark moistened his lips, wondering how much he could
blame on the expensive Andorian brandy later. Neither of them had had
very much . . .  but he imagined it was enough, at least, for the
excuse. Before he could second-guess himself anymore, he took her hand
and said in a soft, earnest tone, "Kiss me."

Whatever flip reply Jadzia had been planning halted on the tip of her
tongue, forestalled by his earnestness. She bit her lower lip,
instead, and said, "Quark . . . "

"I know, I know. Worf," Quark said dismally, slumping back in his
chair. Why force her to speak the rejection when he knew what it was
anyway?

Jadzia's mouth quirked and a short breath of air, almost a snort,
escaped her nose. "Worf doesn't own me, Quark," she said.

Quark's breath caught. For a moment he was torn between shouting for
joy and tackling her with the erotic intensity of a sex-crazed Vulcan
in the midst of plak tow – before his brain caught up with his libido
and explained to him, forcefully, that Worf's lack of ownership of the
tall glorious woman – whose hand had still not yet left his own! – did
not necessarily imply that she was offering herself to him either, and
she'd certainly had plenty of opportunities to do just that well
before the great glowering blunderbuss had gallumphed onto the scene.

And suddenly, in a crazy, bizarrely prideful moment, Quark decided
that he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

"Please don't," Quark said suddenly.

Jadzia looked at him, her confusion plain on her expressive face.
"Don't what?"

"Don't pretend. Don't be nice to me," Quark said. "I can take the 
hint. I've invested a lot in you, Dax, but when the bottom falls out 
of the market a sensible investor can cut his losses. If you're going 
to be his and stay that way, fine. But don't – please, I'm asking you, 
as a friend, don't pretend like I've got a chance."

Jadzia looked at him coolly. "Did you want one?"

Quark stared at her. "What?"

The slightest of smiles, amusement at his discomfiture, curled her
mouth. "Did you want a chance, Quark? What happened to a traditional
Ferengi marriage, everything you ever wanted in a wife wrapped in one
neat, naked little package?" Jadzia tilted her head and smirked
outright at him as she added, "Just like your father before you
married?"

Quark bristled. "That isn't fair," he said.

"Isn't it?" Jadzia asked. Her smile was a little sad, now, as though
she were pitying him. It was very annoying. "Quark, do you think I
could have been a proper Ferengi wife to you?" She looked up at him
through her lashes, sarcasm glimmering dangerously in her eyes as she
continued, "Naked and submissive and ever so obedient, chewing up your
grubs for you and never touching money again?"

"No!" Quark said. It was strange how much he was repulsed by the
thought. (Well . . .  not of Jadzia naked. No, that was a good thought
. . . )

"Didn't you resent your brother for marrying Leeta? Didn't you mutter
to yourself about disintegrating cultural values?" Jadzia raised her
eyebrows at him, expression sardonic. "Don't lie and tell me you
didn't."

"Maybe I was jealous," Quark snapped.

It hadn't been what he'd meant to say. He'd meant to sound much more
reasonable than that.

Jadzia was watching him quietly.

"Maybe I was jealous that he . . . " Quark swallowed, took a deep
breath, and then continued. " . . .  succeeded. In capitalizing on an
opportunity I . . .  missed."

Jadzia picked up her glass and sipped at the Andorian brandy he'd
poured for her, perhaps as something to do with her hands. Then, with
a slight shrug, she said, "Didn't know you felt that way about Leeta."

"I was talking," Quark said, with as much dignity as he could muster,
"about you."

Jadzia sighed. "I know you were, Quark." She set down the glass and
pulled one of her legs up onto the chair to rest her chin on her knee,
watching him with a sad expression. "I love him, you know," she said.

"I would never have guessed from the wedding ceremony," Quark groused.

Jadzia grinned languidly. "It was a beautiful ceremony."

Quark suddenly found himself grinning back, despite himself. "It was a
beautiful bachelorette party, too."

"Best I've ever thrown," Jadzia replied agreeably.

Quark leaned forward against the arm of Jadzia's chair again, his fist
curling beneath his chin. "Especially the part where you decked the
mother-in-law," he said, smirking. Sirella hadn't been the
mother-in-law exactly, but as close an approximation as, to Quark,
made little difference.

Jadzia closed her eyes, with a reminiscent smile on her face. "What
would happen if I decked your mother?"

"Moogie," Quark said firmly, "would duck. And then kick you."

Jadzia laughed. "Someday I'd like to meet her."

Quark shrugged. "Can't think how. She's on Ferenginar."

"Maybe someday she can visit," Jadzia said, glancing slyly at him from
beneath her lashes.

Quark shuddered. "I truly hope not," he said fervently. He took
another swig of the Andorian brandy, to resettle himself after that
distressing thought.

Jadzia was watching him with a contemplative expression when he put
down his glass.

Quark licked his lips and said, "What?"

Jadzia sighed and shook her head. "I don't know that it would have
made a difference. I wouldn't ask you to give up your culture, Quark.
I didn't ask Worf to give up his."

Quark smiled slightly, knowing how much at times Jadzia might have
liked to.

"I mean," Jadzia continued, leaning forward with her cheek resting
against the palm of her hand, elbow on the armrest of her chair, "it
all sounds very romantic, but I can't help but think you would have
hated yourself, eventually, for compromising."

Quark looked at her soft, sad smile, and the depth of compassion in
her vivid blue eyes, and wanted to drown in them. "What makes you say
that?"

Jadzia leaned over and brushed her lips gently against his forehead.
"You're a good Ferengi, Quark. You know the Rules and love them," she
said, standing up. "She can touch your lobes, but never your latinum,
remember?"

Quark stood as well and laughed. It sounded bitterer than he meant it
to. "Jadzia, I . . .  I always thought that someday, you and I, we'd .
. .  we'd be there for each other. In the end. The two of us."

"And we will, of course we will," Jadzia promised, taking both his
hands in hers. "Just not quite the way you thought we would, that's
all."

"You don't think it might have been worth the risk?" he asked softly.

Jadzia shook her head. She squeezed his hands before releasing them,
and said, "Trust a gambler, Quark."

The pieces of his broken heart adored her in that moment and he smiled
sardonically down at his hands, listening to the sound of her
retreating step across the floor and the quiet hiss of the doors
opening to allow her departure.

When he looked up, the bar was deserted.

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The End